


All My Nerves Are Frayed

by Cr1mson5theStranger



Series: When My Mind Fades [2]
Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Brain Cancer, Gen, Terminal Illnesses, Terminal Tadashi, crossposted to tumblr, i'm not that sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cr1mson5theStranger/pseuds/Cr1mson5theStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Setting his affairs in order was a simple enough concept to Tadashi. He had a vague memory of his parents’ will, though at the time he had only known it as a legal document with confusing wording that apparently left him and his brother under the care of their aunt. The concept was relatively uncomplicated. But the execution…he was highly uncertain of it. The only thing Tadashi knew about the legal system was the many and varied ways that his little brother flouted it; he hadn’t the slightest clue what he was expected to do in order to prepare for his own death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Nerves Are Frayed

**Author's Note:**

> As with the previous installment, this is cross-posted from my Tumblr account.

Dr. Minamoto had recommended that Tadashi set his affairs in order. “I know you’re still in college,” the man said, as gently as possible, “but you do have some assets and some personal belongings that need sorting out for after the end comes. Do you understand?”

Tadashi nodded somberly, somewhat disbelieving. Something in him insisted that it was all a horrible nightmare, and that he would wake up soon in his own bed at home, perfectly healthy, with Hiro slinging a pillow at his face and shouting something largely unintelligible.

Dr. Minamoto’s hand was heavy on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son,” he murmured sorrowfully, and quietly took his leave.

Setting his affairs in order was a simple enough concept to Tadashi. He had a vague memory of his parents’ will, though at the time he had only known it as a legal document with confusing wording that apparently left him and his brother under the care of their aunt. The concept was relatively uncomplicated. But the execution…he was highly uncertain of it. The only thing Tadashi knew about the legal system was the many and varied ways that his little brother flouted it; he hadn’t the slightest clue what he was expected to do in order to prepare for his own death.

His hands trembled, almost imperceptibly, when he pleaded for Aunt Cass’s help.

Even worse than asking his aunt to help him level out his belongings after death was the look that she gave him when he did it. Tadashi saw Aunt Cass’s large, green eyes begin to water, and she wiped hurriedly at the stray tears that were already falling down her face. Then, as though by magic, she pulled herself together as much as she could, nodded, and choked out, “Okay. Okay, honey, I—I can help you.”

There was little to outline, it so happened.

*

 _Tadashi speeds through the streets of San Fransokyo as fast as the Vespa can carry him. He begs every deity that comes to mind that he isn’t already too late somehow. Of course, he wouldn’t be begging and pleading and praying if Hiro had just stayed in for the night like he’d_ promised _that he would._

 _But Hiro rarely keeps those promises these days. Tadashi almost understands—almost. Hiro has always been aware of his own intelligence. His thirst for excitement is unquenchable. And bot fighting provides just the right amount of thrills, adrenalin, whatever he needs to get his fix. Tadashi stops understanding at the point where Hiro keeps going back despite the bruises, the cuts and scrapes, the near misses. It’s almost as though Hiro_ enjoys _being caught in these situations._

_Tadashi, having brushed with death a bit too much for his own liking, cannot fathom what excites his little brother so much about being cornered by thugs and threatened. Perhaps it’s part of that “rebellious phase” he’s been told Hiro’s due for._

_It’s probably much more likely that Hiro simply believes himself to be too smart for the rules._

_And thus, Tadashi speeds through the streets of San Fransokyo and hopes that he won’t get a traffic violation on top of whatever penalty is sure to come his way for bailing Hiro out of trouble_ again _. He thinks to himself that he should find some better way to communicate to Hiro that this is not a good thing to do._

*

Five months was optimistic. It was a maximum estimate, a prediction that could not be guaranteed in any way. The end—a thought that still sent a shiver through Tadashi’s body—could very well come at any time before that. He would have to expect it every day, to keep the fear at bay a while longer.

Yet there were innumerably more times when the anxiety ran so deep in his blood that he could barely stand the daytime hours of wakefulness. His limbs quaked, his teeth chattered, and his hands wrung in his lap. Every moment was accompanied with the thought of the possibility that there would be no tomorrow and that all his promised time, no matter how sparse, would be abruptly stolen away from him with his breath and his potential.

Tadashi discovered that the fear and anxiety fueled nearly too many new acts and urges to count. Now, there was always time to carve out from his dwindling minutes to perform some small act of kindness. He was often late to his appointments and engagements because he had stopped to help everyone he could along the way. Paradoxically, he found himself laughing more, smiling so much that his cheeks ached, and his heart swelled with happiness when the smiles and laughter proved contagious. He volunteered himself for extra shifts at the Lucky Cat and for making dinner, to relieve Aunt Cass of the extra work. He found every possible opportunity to spend time with his friends, and he devoted even more of his time to Hiro.

_Hiro…_

The boy had always been a priority for Tadashi. Even the cancer had been powerless to dull his memory of the night they were orphaned, of Hiro’s wide and terrified eyes when he emerged from their shared bedroom to see Tadashi clinging to the babysitter and sobbing. The first uneasy weeks at Aunt Cass’s house had produced many of Tadashi’s instinctual comforting methods, mostly resulting from his nine-year-old mind recalling his parents’ expertise in the area. He had early become used to 9 PM bedtime and midnight sleep time, hours spent cradling Hiro’s unbelievably smaller body against his own and softly petting the untamable hair until the gears in their minds ceased turning enough to let them sleep.

Hiro had ever been a child full of questions. His bright and wondering mind formulated a myriad of questions Tadashi had found nearly impossible to answer; most of their sleepless nights, in fact, were spent juggling with the answers they both sought. Some questions were within Tadashi’s ability to answer but too difficult to wrap his words around exactly. Where were Mom and Dad? When were they coming back? Would Tadashi go away someday, too? Would Hiro have to follow him? Why couldn’t they stay young forever? His young voice bombarded Tadashi’s ears with dizzying inquiries of surprising magnitude.

Occasionally, though, the question matrix in the little boy’s mind would slow down. It never halted, not completely, but it did give him respite from time to time. Tadashi stood nervously at the foot of Hiro’s bed, the night that he and Aunt Cass finished signing all the paperwork they needed to sign for the coming months, and gnawed at his fingernails. Hiro slept peacefully, and though he was sprawled over available inch of space in his bed, he seemed so much smaller than Tadashi had ever realized. Relaxed in slumber, face slack and a trail of saliva trickling down his cheek from his open mouth, Hiro looked like one of those tiny street kittens Tadashi always saw on his way to get Hiro from bot fights. He was wiry and lean, but disheveled and somehow vulnerable; his size hid no reserves of extreme physical strength.

The familiar old thought wedged itself into Tadashi’s mind like a nail into sheetrock, sending a shiver through his frame. What if that little alley cat awoke tomorrow to find his beloved brother had died in the night? What kind of pain would haunt the small creature after such a sight?

Tadashi worked his lower lip between his teeth. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he stepped forward to the side of Hiro’s bed, leaned over, and smoothed back the boy’s hair, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“I love you so much,  _otouto_ ,” he whispered. “I promise you’ll get to say goodbye.”

*

_Tadashi glowers at Hiro from his position pressed against the bars of the cell. Hiro’s cell dwarfs him and his awkward, anxious wave. A breathy giggle brought on by nervousness reaches Tadashi’s ears. He doesn’t react. All he can do is scowl and internally curse his brother for being an idiot adrenalin junkie, as well as himself for being stupid enough to trust that Hiro would actually mean what he said about staying in._

_The cell becomes gradually less crowded as officers call out for Yama, for his thugs, and for the other fighters. Tadashi stays still, watching Hiro’s downcast and crestfallen face fade in and out of focus and multiply before his eyes. He wonders, briefly, if the police will still throw him in prison even though he’s down to two more months of life._

_He swallows thickly as his temple throbs. He’s not sure that he’ll be in any state to drive them home, after all._

_The police eventually come and call Hiro and Tadashi back with them. The brothers sit side-by-side at a wooden table and are sternly reprimanded by the officers. Neither one of them was caught betting on the bot fight, so they can’t really be jailed for it—this time. They are warned, however, that another convenient instance of being just outside the range of a known bot fighting arena will result in jail time for both of them._

_Hiro only seems upset that he isn’t allowed to keep his prize money._

_Aunt Cass arrives at the police station to get them. Tadashi feels hot embarrassment rising in his chest and clinging to the back of his throat when he sees that she’s already loaded his Vespa into the back of her truck and is currently pacing over the rain-damp sidewalk. Her shoes make ripples in the puddles at her feet, and her sudden turn as Hiro and Tadashi emerge from the doorway of the police station sends rainwater splashing up behind her._

_Her fingers tug harshly on his right ear, and out of both habit and surprise, Tadashi winces. But no pain courses through the soft cartilage, not as it normally would. The tumor has long been sapping the feeling from his right side, and it’s only a matter of time until the numb patches grow to encompass his whole side._

*

As his remaining time dwindled, Tadashi became painfully more aware of the progress of the cancer. His ever more frequent lapses in concentration and memory began catching up with him, overtaking him in the race for dominance. He found himself to be more emotional than ever, subject to rapid mood swings with no discernible valid cause. He wobbled when he walked and stuck close by walls and guardrails to keep a semblance of a straight line in his gait. Sight and sound occasionally seemed to drop from the universe, leaving him mostly blind or deaf and about to wander into something perilous. Nearly every night, what rest he was able to get was rudely interrupted by headaches like knives driven through his skull and into his cranium.

Even harder to process than the physical waning was the emotional pain. Professor Callaghan had gathered Tadashi up into a tight, fatherly embrace when the younger man arrived to announce that he had cancelled his classes. Before he could stop himself, Tadashi was clutching a fistful of Callaghan’s sweater vest and crying softly into the man’s shoulder. “It’s alright, son,” Callaghan murmured, patting Tadashi’s back just between his shoulder blades. “You did a lot of good in your time. There aren’t many people in the world as extraordinary as you.” He held Tadashi closer and more tightly. “You’re not alone in this,” he whispered reassuringly.

Tadashi enlisted his friends’ help in clearing out his lab. They had found out about his prognosis shortly after Aunt Cass, and when he approached them, wringing his hands and straining to hold back his tears, Honey Lemon smiled sorrowfully and said, “You don’t have to say anything, Tadashi. Of course we’ll help you.”

And so the five of them went to work in Tadashi’s lab, packing up the last memories of Tadashi’s healthy existence. Fred did his best to lighten the mood, telling his usual brand of cheesy, nerdy jokes and elbowing Tadashi every time one sounded like him. Wasabi ensured that everything was organized by size, color, and function in boxes. Honey Lemon prattled on somewhat distractedly about her latest chemical projects. GoGo worked silently and efficiently on cleaning off one of the many workbenches in the lab.

Still, the weight of cold, cruel reality hung heavy in the air and held fast to their limbs like shackles. It was unbelievable, somehow, that within two months Tadashi would be dead. Curious to think that none of them had ever lived under such agonizing worry when they hadn’t known when they would die, yet Tadashi’s clear and certain countdown to death had produced a great and sobering fear of the end in all of them. Each of them grappled with the actuality of it in their own way. Each of them was about to lose something infinitely more important than they had ever realized. Each of them was about to die in some way.

In one of the many long periods of quiet that day, as Tadashi sorted old plans and notes into piles on the floor, he began to feel peculiar. It seemed to him that his hands, which were tingling with sensations of pins and needles, were suddenly very far away from him. In fact, he seemed very far away from himself; the sounds of papers shuffling, boxes scraping across the floor and the desks, and someone grunting as they hefted a heavy load into their arms were muffled and distorted. His mind began to drift away on a slow, dark cloud of nothingness, away from the present and the pain…

Tadashi returned to himself only moments later, with a wall of white in front of his vision. A calm, placid voice with a somehow inhuman tone cut through the thick fog surrounding his mind to ask, “Tadashi, can you hear me?”

Tadashi blinked slowly, and as his vision refocused, he caught sight of a bulbous head with two huge, circular black eyes connected by a single line in the center of the face. White material gleamed ever so slightly under the light, drawing attention to creases and wrinkles at mechanical joints.  _Baymax_ , Tadashi recognized. Baymax was bending over him, keeping a careful distance so as not to frighten him. Tadashi took a quavering breath and replied, “Yeah, Baymax, I-I can hear you.”

A soft whirring sound resonated from Baymax’s innermost systems. “My scan indicates that you have experienced a seizure brought on by a large cancerous mass growing in your brain and spinal cord. Diagnosis: Glioblastoma multiforme, grade IV.” Baymax extended a pudgy arm, and Tadashi gratefully took it, allowing his creation to lever him upright into a seated position. “The tumor appears to be malignant and rapidly growing. I suggest contacting a medical professional as soon as possible for prognosis.”

He gazed around at his friends. Fred’s eyes were wide and concerned. Honey Lemon’s face was reddening, fresh tears gliding down her cheeks. Wasabi was breathing heavily. GoGo’s fists were clenched tightly at her sides, her body tense as a coiled spring. Tadashi blinked again and turned back to Baymax. “Baymax, I have something I need you to do,” he announced.

Baymax tilted his head to the side. “Will this task improve your physical health?”

Tadashi’s eyes moved up to the framed picture on his desk: Hiro and Tadashi, arms around each other, celebrating Hiro’s high school graduation. “No, but…it’ll improve my emotional health.”

*

_Tadashi does his best to get the message through Hiro’s thick skull. He only wants the boy to be safe, to apply his knowledge and intellectual prowess to something bigger than himself. And as he comes to the realization that Hiro is about to scoop up Megabot and go to another bot fight just hours after being arrested for that very action, his mind snaps back to his old laboratory, still not entirely rid of all of his equipment and unfinished projects, and he knows how to accomplish his goal. He knows how to guide Hiro toward utilizing his full potential._

_There is not a bone in Tadashi’s body which honestly intends to ferry Hiro to his next bot fight, and there never has been. But Tadashi uses the excuse—which his brother remarkably seems to be not at all impervious to—and begins coaxing his Vespa toward SFIT. He makes no mention of the extreme amounts of energy he pours into his concentration, his balance, praying that he doesn’t dump the two of them onto the road in front of a truck._

_“Nerd school,” Hiro had always called it, and Tadashi can’t deny it, not really. But he knows his little brother, and he knows where gaps will soon be opened that need to be filled with the better, brighter faces of tomorrow. So he takes Hiro inside, shows him around the labs, and introduces him to GoGo, Wasabi, Honey Lemon, and Fred._

_Triumph swells in Tadashi’s heart when he sees Hiro’s face light up with enthusiasm and wonder. The only thing that feels better is Hiro’s proclamation that his sanity rests upon his status as a future SFIT student._

_And Tadashi smiles._

*

Hiro was brilliant and gifted, and Tadashi was proud.

Once the initial stage fright subsided, Hiro had presented his microbots to the steadily growing, awestruck crowd as though he had been participating in technological showcases his entire life. Watching him from the side of the stage, Tadashi had almost forgotten that Hiro was only fourteen. Hiro had grown up right in front of his eyes, and it had been wonderful to see.

They descended the steps of the exhibition hall rejoicing, a little clump of ragtag people reveling in their youngest member’s success. As Aunt Cass chatted and laughed with their friends, discussing how spicy she was going to make their celebratory hot wings, Tadashi swallowed around the hard lump of anxiety lodged in his throat and pulled Hiro aside for a brother-to-brother conversation.

He had waited far too long to let Hiro know what the diagnosis was. His brother deserved to know.

Tadashi hurried ahead to the bridge and leaned on the railing, breathing deeply. He stared out at SFIT’s main campus building and clasped his hands tightly together. It only had to be difficult if he allowed it to be, he told himself.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Hiro declared, interrupting his thoughts. Then, in a tone mocking Tadashi’s baritone, “’I should be proud of myself because I’m finally using my gift for something important.’”

Tadashi smirked. “No, no, I was just going to tell you your fly was down for the whole show.”

Hiro rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha, hilarious.” There was a pause, and Tadashi waited for the inevitable moment when the boy would realize he wasn’t lying. Finally, Hiro cried, “What?!” He zipped up his pants and, in almost the same motion, drove his elbow hard into Tadashi’s arm.

Tadashi laughed in spite of himself. The mirth quickly faded, though, and he had to muster energy from deep within himself to smile at Hiro. “Welcome to nerd school…nerd.”

Hiro snorted, but his young face was solemn and thankful. “Hey, uh…I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, so—you know…thanks for not giving up on me.”

Tadashi met Hiro’s eyes and smiled, small and warm and genuine. Like magic, he could feel the moment opening. There was no better opportunity. He hated to undermine his brother’s happiness with his own tragedy, but it had to be done. He wanted Hiro to be able to say goodbye. “Hiro,” Tadashi tentatively began, “I have something important to tell you.”

A sudden monotonous drone broke through the night air, startling Tadashi into ultra-awareness. He glanced briefly at Hiro before breaking into a run toward the exhibition hall and the strangely red-orange light spilling from it. He skidded round the corner and ground to a halt in utter shock at the sight before him.

The SFIT exhibition hall was ablaze, the inferno spilling out of the windows from within. Masses of panicked people poured from the exits and scattered across the campus grounds to get to safety. Tadashi’s heart sank in dread. Hiro’s microbots, his future, everything they had both worked so hard for was burning to a crisp before them.

Tadashi’s line of sight was broken by a woman stumbling out of the flaming building, coughing forcefully into her elbow. He dove forward to catch her by the arms and shouted, “Are you okay?”

She coughed again. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she sputtered, “but Professor Callaghan’s still in here!” With an emphatic finger pointing to the blaze, she turned on her heel and darted away.

A flood of memory rushed back into Tadashi’s mind. Professor Callaghan had made Tadashi’s progress a personal priority, when Tadashi first began attending SFIT. He had helped Tadashi find ways to work around the intellectual scarring left by the first fight with cancer. He had coached Tadashi carefully in everything the younger man had difficulty comprehending or mastering. Callaghan had hugged him as tightly as his own father once had and assured him that he had done great things in his limited time. He had embraced Tadashi at the news that he was dying and made him proud to have lived.

In two months, Tadashi thought, his life would end. But he would not allow it to end with the heavy regret of failing his mentor hanging over his head.

Tadashi lunged toward the burning hall, only to have a small, bony hand wrap around his wrist and pull him backward. “Tadashi,  _no_!” Hiro cried out, and when Tadashi turned, Hiro’s eyes were imploring, desperate.

Tadashi’s chest heaved with adrenalin fueled breaths. “Callaghan’s in there,” he said firmly. “Someone has to help.”

He took a moment to absorb the detail of the firelight reflecting back from Hiro’s deep brown, fearful eyes before continuing his purposeful ascent up the stairwell into the exposition hall. He hardly noticed his hat, his favorite hat, the hat his friends had given him as a gift on a birthday before he knew he was doomed, blew off his head and flew backward behind him. All that mattered was reaching Callaghan, doing whatever he could to help the man who had helped him so much.

The last sensations Tadashi Hamada experienced were the excruciating pain of his spine snapping as a burning beam crashed down upon him, the intense heat of a chemical explosion, and the viscous regret pooling in his mouth.

Regret tasted strangely like blood.


End file.
